All the Kings Men
by Bron
Summary: Set 3 weeks after the season six finale, Lindsay's thoughts


Title: All the Kings Men  
  
Author: Bron (Bronwyn_00@excite.com)  
  
Authors Notes: Well I just finished watching the season finale, and to be quite honest it depressed me. Personally had I been on that jury, I would have found Lindsay not guilty, I thought they put on a strong defense, but then I don't write for the show and I guess it was better drama not too. Having said that if she had been found not guilty I would have no reason to write this story.   
  
This story is set three weeks after the conclusion to the finale, and I have to warn you it is not very cheerful or hopeful I'll do that one (possibly) when show starts up again and I know what direction the storyline is taking. This story is where I think Lindsay would be emotionally three weeks after being told she's spending the rest of her life in prison.  
  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, there'd be no jail.  
  
* * *  
  
I hate this place.  
  
I mean I really hate it. But then lets be honest, I'm not meant to enjoy it. Jails are built to punish people, to deny them their freedom, to give them time to think about their wrong doings, and pay their debt to society. I have an awfully long time to accomplish that.  
  
Twenty five to life, to be exact.  
  
Currently I'm three weeks into the rest of my life and wondering how I'll survive three years let alone eight times that. And then that thought becomes so astronomical too me that I can't even comprehend it so I force myself to think about something, anything else. Mostly I just wish I could go home.  
  
Right now it's late, or to more be precise very early in the morning. Judging from the various sounds of deep breathing and snoring coming from the cells surrounding mine I have to figure I'm the only one laying awake pondering their future. But then I'm also the newest edition to this cell block, and I have to wonder if when I've been here as long as some of these other women have, if I'll still be having these all night thinking sessions. I hope not, I mean what would be the point?   
  
I probably wouldn't be thinking so much tonight if I didn't know that tomorrow, or I guess I should say today, is Saturday. And Saturday means a visit from Bobby. I dread these visits as much as I anticipate them. One part of me wants to see him so badly, wants to believe him when he tells me that everything will be okay, and that he wont rest until he gets me out of here. I want to be able to look into his eyes all day, listen to his voice, hold his hand. But the other part, the part that whispers to me at times like this, when it's late and I'm alone and at my most vulnerable, tells me that I'm being selfish by wanting that. That I should let him go, let Rob go, let my friends go on with live their lives. That by holding them too me I'm locking them in a cage every bit as secure as the one I'm in. And I can almost convince myself that the second voice is right, even as I also know I won't stop myself from seeing him if he comes.  
  
I even know how the visit will go, I can play the scene through in my head. He'll sit opposite me and the first thing he'll ask, as he has the last two times he's visited is how I am. Then he'll tell me that the paperwork for the appeal is going well and that I should just hang in there because he's really confident that I'll get out soon. And he will be, he'll fight for me forever, I know that. And for a while I'll think I can hold on, just because he said too and because I want to believe him. I'll hold onto the thought all day, while doing my assigned jobs, and walking around during the one hour a day I'm allowed outside, and even while I'm eating the tasteless food they serve for dinner. Then I'll come back here and listen while they lock us in for the night, I'll walk over to the small mesh window, I'll look up at the stars through the unyielding bars, and my belief will wane.  
  
It's a relentless cycle that I'm too week to break.   
  
* * *   
  
He looks tired.   
  
Every time he comes to visit I see a little bit more of him fading away. It worries me and it makes me sad. But he gives me a brave smile as he sits opposite me. Almost in unison we pick up the connected telephones, and not for the first time I resent the thick glass separating us.   
  
"How are you?" He asks.   
  
Although I'm anything but, I give him the standard. "I'm alright."  
  
And when he says. "The appeals coming along well. We'll have you out of here in no time." I want to curl up into a ball and cry like a baby.   
  
"I know." I answer for his benefit. Even though I don't really.  
  
He must sense something because he gives me an intense look. The kind that early in our relationship used to make me believe he knew everything about me. "What's wrong?"  
  
Where to start? I'm in jail, I miss you, I'm scared and lonely. "Nothing."  
  
"Lindsay." He scoots closer in his chair, as frustrated by our barrier as I am. "Talk to me."  
  
"I…" I can't, I'm not steady enough emotionally yet, to bring down the barriers and open up too him. I shake my head. "Don't worry about it, it's nothing. I guess I'm just tired."  
  
"You're shutting me out." I can see the hurt in his eyes.   
  
"Please Bobby, I just need to deal with this in my own way for now." My own eyes are pleading for understanding.   
  
"Alright." He holds his hand up to the partition and I mimic the gesture, if not for the glass separating us our fingertips would be touching. "But you're not alone in this Lindsay. You need to know that. You need to remember it."  
  
I'd promised myself I wasn't going to cry today, I'm still promising it when I feel the first tears slide down my cheeks. He gives me a watery smile. "I can't pass you my handkerchief."  
  
"Don't worry about it." Using my sleeve I wipe my eyes and sniff loudly. "How's Rob?" I desperately need to change the subject.  
  
"He's alright." He lets his hand drop down, and uses it to reach into his coat. "We got these photo's back from his birthday party. With the trial….. and everything I forgot we put them in. Lucy picked them up for me."   
  
He holds it up so I can see. It's a shot of all three of us standing behind the birthday cake. I'm holding Rob, his little party hat is sitting crooked on his head, and Bobby is behind us. All three of us are smiling at the camera. "I liked this one best." He says.  
  
"It's great." I move my hand along the glass and trace the outlines of our faces.  
  
He clears his throat. "I talked to the guard, he said you could keep it, I'll hand it in to him on my way out."  
  
I look up at him over the top of the picture, through eyes that are already filling again. "Thanks."   
  
"Helen came over last night to play with him. She spent the whole time crying."  
  
"That sounds like Helen."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
There is a lull in the conversation as we both try to get hold of our emotions. Bobby recovers first. "You need to be strong Lindsay. Don't let this break you."  
  
A guard takes pity on me and hands me a tissue, I nod my thanks as she wanders back to her post by the door. "I was already broken Bobby, that's one of the reasons why I'm in here."  
  
"Well when you get out, we'll put you back together again." I watch him grip the phone until his knuckles turn white. "I'm going to do better this time, be more understanding. We're going to survive this Lindsay."  
  
I really want to believe that. "How can you be sure?"  
  
He lifts his hand back up to the glass. "Because I love you. I waited for you once to come into my life, I didn't even know I was waiting until I met you. Now that I know, I can wait again."  
  
For a moment I wonder who could possibly be saying these words to me. Certainly not my husband who keeps everything inside. And then I realise that this was the man I'd fallen in love with and this was why. "I love you too." I say.  
  
A buzzer sounds and the hand he has held up, curls into a fist. "I guess I have to go." I nod and then we both sit there staring at each other, trying to prolong the moment. "I'll see you next week." He says finally.  
  
And then he's gone.  
  
* * *  
  
So now I'm back in my cell, I've survived another day. That's how I think of time now, just one day at a time, where once I looked forward to the future now I just look to tomorrow. It's late and I know I should be sleeping, I know I should shut everything off for a couple of hours and try to find some peace. Instead I lie on my cot and through the dim light I look at the picture that Bobby left me, I study every detail until they're seared into my brain, and then I tuck it into my pillowcase for safe keeping.  
  
And I look at the bars holding me in here, keeping me away from my family and I think again.  
  
God I hate this place.  
  
___________________________________________  
  
Thanks for reading, feedback is always appreciated 


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